


From Curse to Cradle

by deliciously_devient



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Curses, M/M, Mild Gore, descriptions of injuries, magic!mccree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 13:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15438558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciously_devient/pseuds/deliciously_devient
Summary: Cursed and injured, Hanzo is sure he will die in this forest, alone and forgotten.He's wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

The moon is full and the smell of wet earth is pleasant in Jesse’s nose. The moonlight feels like a balm on his skin; he forewent his usual hat to feel it spill across his cheeks and nose. He is barefoot as he walks through his favorite forest, toes curling in the soft, still-warm loam. Brambles and thorns and other things that might cut his feet leap out of the way, a courtesy since he’s befriended the spirits here. Not for the first time he feels contentment ring through him that this was the path he chose to go down after Overwatch fell.

 

Going back to his Mama and Abuelita was a hard choice, when Gabe had told him to go in no uncertain terms, was a good choice; even though he had broken the curse on the males of the McCree lineage himself, he was still unsure of himself, of his own abilities. He was terrified the moment he went back to his family that the coyotes wouldn’t be far behind, ready to tear him to pieces for daring to go near his family.

 

But, of course, he had done it perfectly; so perfectly, in fact, that once his Abuelita told the community about it, well, he was being called to all parts of the world to break ancient curses that had been in place for thousands of years. Pharaoh tombs, cursed amulets, even a Monkey’s Paw on one occasion. He had a knack for cursebreaking, and had lifted one off of this particular forest that seemed to like to snatch small children from the parents.

 

He wondered, sometimes, what must have been lurking in his father’s blood that gave him such a knack for it, but it was a question for another day. Like so many other McCree men, Jesse’s father had been a one night stand for his own safety, and since his mother had been fleeing the Crisis with thousands of other women at the time, it was likely he would never meet the man. He’d come to terms with that, and was glad enough that his sister was able to have a father because of him, that his mother was able to settle down with a man she loved. 

 

He sighed softly as he came to a small clearing, the moonlight hitting him fully. He took his serape off, letting the light drip over his chest and shoulders, the ink on his collarbones and biceps glimmering faintly as it absorbed the power so freely given. While the sun was his main source of power, he adored the coolness of the moon. He thought perhaps he should return to his home in the desert; the moon over the sand would be beautiful right about now, and there was a special power to it in the desert itself.

 

A soft noise drew his attention, making his eyes snap open as he curiously stepped toward it. It sounded like a pained grunt, and his ears strained in the following silence. There was another grunt, followed by soft sniffling, like quiet sobs. Concerned, Jesse followed his ears further into the forest, almost stumbling over the source of the noise. 

 

The scent of stale blood and the onset of rot hit his nose first, before he settled his eyes on the source of it. It was a man, badly wounded, and the second his eyes set upon him, rage unlike any other filled his chest. Who was this foul creature, soiling the earth of a forest he protected? How  _ dare  _ he bleed on such sacred ground bringing his filth with him!

 

Without thought, Jesse raised his hand, fire gathering in his palm with the intent to  _ burn  _ this insolent wretch out of his forest until only ashes of him remained. Dark, beady eyes stared up at him, narrowed and  _ challenging, _ insolent even in his final moments.

 

Jesse raised his hand higher, pulling more power from the light of the moon and adding in a few quiet chants, fulling intending on bringing Hellfire down on this disgusting  _ thing  _ for invading his territory, before a sharp, hot pain around his wrist made his palm close, extinguishing the fire, hissing softly as he clenched his hand against his chest. His bracelet, the one that was meant to let him know when an outside influence was tampering with his judgement, was glowing white-hot against his wrist, and he instantly whispered a simply counterspell, shaking his head slightly as the fog of rage cleared from his mind.

 

He had looked away from the man when he had dropped the fire, and he kept his eyes away as his mind skipped over the possibilities. There was a lot of blood, and a trail of it leading to where the man lay now; he’d dragged himself here for shelter, likely from being attacked if Jesse’s reaction to him initially was correct. He was likely under some sort of enchantment or curse; now that the rage was gone, Jesse could feel the tingle of it on his skin, strong enough to be seeping back under his skin despite the counterspell. If it was already sinking into his mind again, it must be quite powerful, and exceedingly nasty.

 

The man was heavily injured; the blood was indication of that enough, and he was still making soft, pathetic noises. Jesse made a snap decision; he bit into his thumb sharply, drawing a few drops of blood and drawing ruins onto his own skin to ward against mind control, before allowing himself to look on the man. 

 

He looked half-starved, bruised on every inch of visible skin. His clothes were filthy, and his legs were barely covered. Jesse felt his stomach turn as he looked on his legs, or rather, what was left of them. The damage was extensive, almost as if a wild animal had shredded into his calves, and it wasn’t actively bleeding, but the man was so pale it was a wonder he was even still alive. Jesse knelt down, and the man flinched minutely away; he was likely too exhausted for anything more.

 

“Hey now, it’s alright,” Jesse murmured soothingly as he scooped the man into his arms, uncaring of the filth transferred to his own body. “I got you, I ain’t gonna hurt you none, alright? I’ll get you fixed up right as rain.”

 

Dark eyes, wary and tired, stared at him in disbelief as he walked through the forest, back to where he’d left his serape.

 

“P...please,” the man whispered, his head curling just under Jesse’s chin, too exhausted to hold his head up. “Just end it. Please.”

 

Jesse’s heart twisted in his chest sharply, a physical pain that further drove away the fog of rage that was attempting to creep back over his mind despite his warding. 

 

“Hey now, I said I’d fix ya up, and I meant it,” he murmured as he knelt to pick up his serape. “Hold on now; take a breath.”

 

He waited until the man sucked in a wet breath, the sound of it making him frown, before throwing the end of his serape around his shoulder, almost completely covering the malnourished man. There was a soft  _ whush  _ of air, and everything went black for a moment as the air was knocked out of his chest. It lasted only a brief second, and then he was standing in his backyard with the injured man in his arms.

 

More gasping wet breaths met his ears, and he soothed the man as he walked to the faintly glowing moonpool in his backyard. He immediately laid the man's lower half into the shallow pool, laying his back on the soft grass just beside it. The silvery glow of the water burned brighter as it began healing; it was almost too bright to look at, and Jesse’s mouth tightened in displeasure. The man’s wounds were likely far more severe than they seemed, then, if the glow was so bright.

 

“I gotta get you out of these clothes, aright?” Jesse murmured softly, making sure the man caught his gaze before he began divesting him of his shirt and the remnant of his pants and underwear. He discarded the clothing away from the pool, and carefully removed his pants, leaving the underwear for the man’s sake, before kneeling beside him. 

 

“I’m gonna do as much as I can right now, but I’m gonna have to leave in a moment,” Jesse murmured, conjuring a washrag to get as much dirt and grime off the man with the glowing moonpool water, being as gentle as possible. Now that it was brighter, Jesse could see that he was  _ covered  _ in bruises and cuts, along with scars in varying stages of healing. He was an absolute mess of wounds, old and new, and the curse was  _ visible  _ in the light of the moonpool, lurid green and black as it clung to the weak impression of the man’s soul. 

 

“I have to fetch my Abuelita,” he soothed, when the man’s eyes widened with fear at the mention of Jesse leaving. “She’s much better at healing than I am; I’ve done just about all I can, but I need to get that curse offa ya. It’s real nasty, and it ain’t gonna do your healing any favors.”

 

Dark, tired eyes stared up at him from sunken eyes; it was the gaze of a man who had given up, who had no hope, and it just about broke Jesse open. When the man was as clean as he could get, Jesse shifted him a bit deeper into the moonpool, the glowing water shining brightly as it rushed to heal the wounds on his chest. Despite the brightness, Jesse could more clearly see the damage done to the man’s legs; the flesh was shredded in most places, if not completely gone; the damage was to the bone, the white of it clearly visible in places, and the sight turned his stomach. 

 

“Stay just right here, now, darlin’,” Jesse soothed, petting the man’s hair gently. “Rest up. I’ll be right back, and I’ll start on that curse, okay?”

 

The man nodded slowly, tired eyes staring up at Jesse unwaveringly, filled with gratitude. Jesse stood quickly and bounded out of his yard, sprinting the short distance to his Abuelita’s house. The door, sensing his urgency, flung itself open as he called out.

 

“Mama! Abuelita! Wake up, there’s an emergency!” he shouted as he ran straight to his Abuelita’s room. 

 

The elderly woman met him at her bedroom door before he could pound on it, wrapped in a shawl and dressed in her flannel pajamas. There was sleep in her eyes and her silver hair was down around her shoulders, her mouth set in a frown as she scowled.

 

“ _ What is it, then?”  _ she demanded, and Jesse slipped easily into Spanish. 

 

“ _ I found a man in my forest; he is curse, and very badly injured. I need your help to heal him, to keep him stable while I remove the curse. I don’t know how long he has left, if we don’t hurry.” _ he pelted out rapidly, and his Abuelita, bless her, only nodded seriously before retreating to her room to grab her staff. 

 

It was a beautiful thing, a living wand taller than she was, with three unique branches at the top, one sterling white with frosted leaves, one verdant green with full bloom apple blossoms, and one dark, dusky black with thick spider webs. On the bottom, it sprouted roots that it walked on whenever his Abuelita let go of it, and it followed her along like an obedient pet. It was a family heirloom; it had been in the McCree family for two hundred years, held by the matriarch of the family.

 

They made it to Jesse’s back yard quickly; their homes were very close, and this far in their ranch, there was no need for fences. Jesse hadn’t been gone long, but the man seemed to have passed out; only the steady glow of the water let him know he was still alive, with how faint his breathing was.

 

“ _ My goddess, what has been done to this poor creature?”  _ Maria gasped, and Jesse shook his head. 

 

“ _ I don’t know, but I hope we aren’t too late to help him,”  _ Jesse murmured as he knelt beside the man. He would need to get hands on to remove a curse so closely entwined with a man’s soul, and he could only hope the man was resilient enough to survive the removal itself.

 

“ _ I will do what I can. You get rid of that sickness clinging to him, _ ” his abuelita commanded, and he nodded.

 

Jesse took a deep breath, closing his eyes and finding the quiet inside himself. His hands warmed, and his vision sharpened; the desert wind rushed through him down to his soul, and time slowed as he opened his eyes. He knew it was the middle of the night, but he felt the harsh head of the midday sun on his back and shoulders, and the sickly green and black curse was thrown into sharp relief to his eyes, wrapped tightly around the faint electric blue of the man’s soul.

 

Chanting softly, he coaxed the man’s soul up, out of his chest, hands cupped around but not quite touching it as it swayed softly to the cadence of his voice. Carefully, so as not to touch the fragile thing, he began plucking at the curse, chanting all the while. It was sticky, like overly wet dough, and when one piece was removed, three pieces remained clinging, ever smaller and harder to pluck. 

 

Jesse was diligent, however; he knew that even one small piece left behind would mean the curse would return, and he continued on, scraping each oozing, doughy piece off. Some pieces left hole, little punctures in the man’s soul that bled energy and life force faintly for a few moments. After each such piece, Jesse stopped plucking, and sang for a few moments, weaving his own energy into the punctures, bolstering the man’s soul with his own. He knew doing so was foolish, and could compromise himself during the cursebreaking; he could feel the disapproval from his abuelita, but he did so anyway. 

 

He wasn’t sure why it was so important that the man live, that he survive this, but it  _ was.  _ Jesse couldn’t let him die.

 

The hours wore on; the sound of his Abuelita’s voice faded, and he knew that the man’s body had been healed, as his soul glowed brighter and less pieces of the curse left bleeding lesions on it.

 

“ _ Well done, Jessito,” _ Maria murmured as dawn broke, and Jesse blinked, rubbing his eyes as he realized there were no more sticky green and black pieces clinging to the man’s soul; it was electric blue and  _ vibrant _ now, no longer tainted. 

 

Carefully, gently, Jesse coaxed the man’s soul back into his body, murmuring a few warding spells as he did so, just in case. As soon as the man’s soul was back safe, the full weight of exhaustion slammed into him, and he swayed slightly. He shook his head to clear it, and clear the tiredness away. 

 

He glanced at the man’s legs, mouth tightening as his suspicions were confirmed; his legs were gone from just above the knee down; the stubs were smooth and healed as though the wounds were years old, not moments, but he knew his abuelita would have only done so as a last resort. 

 

“We’ll have ta call George, get him to fit him for some prosthetics,” Jesse murmured, carefully picking the man up. He hadn’t noticed early, but he was almost scarily light; he must be close to starved, ribs clearly visible and jutting.

 

“Of course, Jessito,” Maria murmured, guiding Jesse by the shoulder. Jesse laid the man on the bed in the guest room, covering him with a soft blanket. On the bedside table, he left a glass of water, a change of clothes and a bell. He wrote a small note beside the bell that said  _ ring for help  _ and stood over the man for a moment. He had sharp cheekbones, defined, a hooked nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. His eyebrows were pointed at the ends, lips full, shoulders wide, though he was gaunt.

 

“Mama, can you make your  _ posole  _ tonight?” he asked as he entered his kitchen, where his grandmother and mother were sitting at his kitchen table. There was food laid out already, and he dug in with relish, knowing his body would need the calories. 

 

“Of course, mijo,” his mother said with a smile. Jesse smiled back at her, and contentment settled into his bones along with the exhaustion. 

 

He had made the perfect choice, coming back.


	2. Chapter 2

Consciousness returned to Hanzo slowly; he was warm, comfortable, and lying on something softer than he’d slept on in years. He was loath to return to the waking world, as he knew it would mean a return to his loneliness and the pain of his injuries.

 

Something dragged him out of the comfort of sleep, however, awareness returning to him slowly as the ache in his bladder made itself known. He opened his eyes, tensing as an unfamiliar ceiling met his gaze. Years of paranoia kept him still as he listened, picking up the faint sound of feminine voices coming from another room. He appeared to be in a bedroom of some kind, warm russet colors decorating it.

 

The bed he was lying on smelled of fresh linen and something vaguely spicy, and it set him oddly at ease despite not knowing where he was.

 

Except...he did. Slowly, like digging through molasses, memories of the previous evening came back to him. He remembered being injured, crawling through the woods to try and save himself. The pain had been exceptional, but he remembered the man that had stumbled upon him as he lay, dying, and content in the knowledge that he would at least get a moment of peace before passing on.

 

He remembered bright fire, eyes glowing red with damnation, and then soft hands and a kind voice. He vaguely remembers being placed in cool, glowing water that soothed his pain, remembers the man coaxing his  _ soul  _ out of his body, gently removing the sickly black and green sickness clinging to it.

 

Slowly, he sits up, the soft, woolen blankets falling off his shoulders. He has a moment of panic as he attempts to swing his legs over the bed to the floor, only to find them gone. He hunches over the stubs, his stomach roiling as he looks at the damage. There is no pain, each stub neatly cut and healed after the knee as though he had been born that way. There weren’t even any scars, and he put a hand over his mouth, trying to keep his empty gut from rebelling.

 

He hadn’t had any real hope of keeping them, of course, when he had crawled away from his captors and tormentors, but being faced with their absence was more jarring than he was expecting. A high, distressed noise met his ears, not unlike the whining of a dog, and he tried to stop when he realized it was him.

 

“Oh, you’re awake,” a soft, feminine voice called, and Hanzo’s gaze snapped up, settling on a kind-faced woman in the door of the bedroom, her brown eyes filled with sympathy. “Are you in pain,  _ mijo _ ?” she asked, hands in front of her and shoulders relaxed, as if trying to assure him he wasn’t a threat. 

 

Slowly, he shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and the woman smiled at him. “Good, good. I was afraid you wouldn’t pull through the day; your body was easy enough to heal, but your spirit took the brunt of the injury. You are very strong.”

 

Hanzo didn’t know what to say; he hadn’t held a conversation with someone in over eight years, and being faced with any kind of kindness was foreign. Not unwanted, but definitely unexpected.

 

“Here, I got a hoverchair from George; it’ll have to do until we can get you to him for your prosthetics,” the woman said, gesturing to the sleek hoverchair Hanzo hadn’t noticed near his bedside. It was silver and hummed quietly with antigrav pods at the bottom.

 

“Why?” he demanded, eyes narrowed at the woman, tense and ready to leap into action. This had to be some kind of trap, some kind of trick. People did not look upon him in kindness, not anymore.

 

The woman’s eyes were sad, and she smiled softly at him. “We help when we can. It is our way,  _ mijo _ . I don’t blame you for being suspicious, but you are safe here.”

 

Hanzo didn’t believe her, couldn’t. But she hadn’t tried to attack him, hadn’t even frowned in his direction. Her body was relaxed and open, unthreatening, and while it was easy to lie, it wasn’t easy to hide the disgust in your eyes. Disgust he hadn’t seen once in her eyes.

 

“The bathroom is the first door on the right; dinner will be ready soon, and there are fresh clothes in the dresser there, if you’d like to change,” she said and then left, closing the door behind her. There was no sound of a lock clicking into place, and her footsteps faded away, as if she really had just left him alone.

 

Swallowing, Hanzo eased himself into the hoverchair, hesitantly guiding it forward and into the hall. He found the bathroom easily enough, blinking in surprise when it seemed to be made for someone in a wheelchair; everything was easily accessible, and the mirror was low enough for him to see himself easily. 

 

There were razors at the ready, a hairbrush and toothbrush still in the packaging. The tub looked inviting, with wide ledges for him to sit on, but he decided against bathing just then; he was still clean from the pool, and his skin felt soft and new. He brushed out his long hair, and found a tie to bring it back in a simple pony, before tending to his ragged beard. When he was finished, he looked much better, and felt slightly more human.

 

He returned to his room, and found the fresh clothes the woman had mentioned. They smelled clean, and slightly spicy, like the underlying scent of the house itself, and he changed. Getting into the shorts was a bit of a chore, but he managed easily enough, glad his benefactors hadn’t given him pants.

 

He took a deep, fortifying breath, before he left the relative safety of the room, following his nose and ears to the kitchen. There was the woman who had spoken to him before, along with an older woman who could only be her mother. Her hair was bright white, pulled back into a tight bun, but her face was kind and wrinkled by numerous laugh lines. She noticed Hanzo first, and her smile was wide and vaguely reminiscent of...someone.

 

“Hello!” she greeted, smiling so brightly that it caught Hanzo off guard. “I am Maria, and this is my daughter, Julia. I’m glad to see you awake, after last night.”

 

Hanzo was struck by the woman’s, Maria’s, smile and kindness. Something in his chest twisted and pulled sharply, and he felt like he wanted to cry. 

 

“I am Hanzo,” he murmured, guiding his chair forward, wanting to be closer to the warmth the two women were giving off.

 

“A pleasure to meet you, then, Hanzo,” Julia said with a grin, and gestured him to the table, which was laden with bread and buns and other sweets. “Come, come, eat. You must be starving.”

 

He was, Hanzo realized; the ache of hunger was so familiar to him, however, he had simply put it to the back of his mind. The smell of cooking pork and spices was heavy in the air, and once he paid attention to his stomach, it was all that he could think of.

 

A bowl was placed in front of him, filled with some sort of soup, and he quietly thanked Maria, who had placed the bowl in front of him. He added some cabbage to the top of it, along with onions, as he saw the other two do, before dipping his spoon into the thick broth. There was pork and some kind of white vegetable on his spoon, and he shoved it into his mouth without question.

 

A groan of pure appreciation escaped his throat before he could stop it; it was unlike anything he’d ever tasted, thick and warm and gentle in his belly. The crunch of the raw cabbage was an excellent texture, the flavor of it adding more to the broth and pork. He dug into it with ferocity, and before he knew it, his spoon was scraping the last dregs of broth from his bowl. 

 

Before he could blink, the bowl was snatched away and replaced with a full bowl. He looked up, eyes narrowed as he saw both women still sitting where they had been before, and looked around. There was no one else around who could have replaced his bowls, and his anxiety spiked.

 

“Neat, ain’t they?” a deep voice asked, drawing Hanzo’s eyes to the doorway of the kitchen. There was a tall, broad man there, dark skinned and brown eyed, scratching his stomach as he walked into the kitchen. He was in pajamas, hair wild and eyes sleepy as if he had just rolled out of bed, but Hanzo recognized him. “Enchanted to bring you more if you’re still hungry. No one leaves our house hungry.”

 

“You’re the man from the forest,” Hanzo said, unable to take his eyes of this man. Something in his chest was stirring, and he was unsure if it was good or not.

 

“I surely am,” the man said cheerfully, serving himself his own bowl and sitting beside Hanzo at the table. “Thought you were a goner, not gonna lie.”

 

“You almost killed me,” Hanzo said, memories of bright fire and glowing eyes filling his mind. “You had fire in your hand. I thought you would grant me mercy.”

 

The man’s mouth tightened, and brows coming up in a frown. “Yeah. It was a near thing. That was a hell of a nasty curse y’had.”

 

It was Hanzo’s turn to frown, and he took another bite of his soup, thinking. “What do you mean, curse?”

 

The man finished chewing before he gestured at Hanzo. “Y’know. Seemed like something designed to make everyone who saw you attack. Something that powerful, y’must remember someone saying something to you.”

 

_ No one will ever love you again. _

 

Hanzo stares at his full bowl, and sprinkles more cabbage over the top. He is silent for a long while as he works his way through it. It is half gone when his stomach starts to complain of fullness, but he finishes it all. He isn’t sure when he will be able to eat again, when they will allow him.

 

If they allow him.

 

It makes sense, that it must have been a curse. Hikiko was a...questionable researcher, and her family had been closely linked with Oni. 

 

“Thank you for the meal, and your kindness,” Hanzo says, after a time. The women and the man are still enjoying their meal, talking softly between one another. The kitchen holds a sense of warmth, of family. Hanzo soaks up as much of it as he can.

 

“Of course,  _ mijo _ ,” Maria says, and her face is so kind, Hanzo wants to believe it. Wants to believe that kind of kindness could ever be truly meant for him.

 

“If I could ask more kindness of you,” he starts quietly, eyes on his hands, neatly folded in his lap. “Please, make my death quick, or at least drug me enough that I cannot feel the pain. I have suffered for a long time, and I am very tired.”

 

Silence greets his ears, and he does not look up. If he has angered them, he doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to see the pain coming. He lost all sense of pride years ago, and lost his hope completely last year. He aches for a quiet death; he wants the agony to end, can’t stand watching the disgust enter the eyes of these kind people, can’t watch the hatred he is so used to in those kind brown eyes. He wants to remember this kindness, these soft words, his full belly. He wants his last moments to be soft ones, that he might pass on and find peace.

 

“I don’t know what you been through, or for how long,” the man says softly, after a tense silence. “But you’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you.”

 

Hanzo closes his eyes, despair rising up and threatening to drown him. If that is how they are playing the game, then his torture is going to be so much more worse. The kind ones are always the more vicious.

 

“It is okay. I know what happens, I know what my life is now. You do not have to hide yourselves from me. Please, do not pretend,” he says, the edge of desperation creeping into his voice.

 

“Hanzo, mijo, Jesse got rid of the curse. You are free, now, we are not going to hurt you,” Maria says gently, and Hanzo shakes his head.

 

“No!” he says, shouts. He opens his eyes, sees three sets of concerned brown eyes turned on him, and snarls. “No, do not pretend! This is how it is! Don’t fight against it, you will only make it worse. Please, just kill me and be done with it!”

 

His vision is blurred and he realizes he is crying. His chest is heaving with it, thick, heavy sobs he can’t restrain, though he claps a hand over his mouth. He clenches his eyes shut and fights against the sobs, flinching when he feels arms wrap around him.

 

“Shh, shh, you’re alright,” Jesse murmurs in his ear, and he’s being rocked slowly. “Everything’s okay, y’hear? You’re safe, and ain’t no one gonna lay a hand on you. Shh, shh.”

 

Hanzo isn’t sure for how long he cries; it feels like hours, but Jesse is there through it all, voice soft and hands gentle. It’s the closest he’s been to another person without physical pain in a decade, and that thought makes him sob harder. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please, comment and let me know what you think! it helps the brain gremlin work faster


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains implied sexual assault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT WARNING there's a brief mention of it while Hanzo panics, but there's nothing graphic.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write more of this. I would appreciate some comments to let me know you're enjoying it with me!

 

Hanzo...adjusts. That first night, after he is done crying, Jesse leads him back to his room and offers him a decongestant and a box of tissues. He assures Hanzo once again that he is safe, and tells him to call if he needs anything. Exhaustion weighs heavy on him, and he shuffles into his bed that night not expecting to sleep, but falling into it almost immediately. 

 

The next morning, he wakes with the sun, the gentle sound of birdsong drifting through his open window. He frowns, remembering it being closed against the chill of the evening, but chalks it up to the other odd happenings. He remembers the magics that seemed to be commonplace, and wonders why he never bothered to learn anything about the arcane outside of his dragons.

 

He checks the drawers in the room he's been assigned and finds more fresh clothes; the shorts and underwear he uncovers are silk soft and remind him of his mother's kimonos. The shirt is tagless this time, as is his preference, and he notices that the walls themselves have changed color. Yesterday they were a soft, unassuming white; today they are the gentle light blue of a springtime sky, and the ceiling has soft cloud designs that, on closer inspection, actually seem to move lazily to an unseen wind.

 

His skin feels slightly grimy and sweaty, so he takes the clothes and towel he finds and guides himself to the bathroom. He must not have paid much attention yesterday, because as he opens the door he can  _ see  _ it change, rearranging itself into a configuration more suitable to someone in a wheelchair and he marvels. Such an ingenious enchantment, to make the walls and fixtures shift to the needs of whoever enters; he wonders how it works, if replicating such an enchantment would be possible.

 

He wonders if he will be able to ask before he is killed.

 

The bathtub begins to fill before he even moves toward it, and he smiles slightly in wonder as he finds the same brush and toothbrush he used yesterday. The razor is fresh, but he has not grown much hair so he decides against grooming his beard. His hair is barely tamed, and as he brushes, he finds several matted areas that will have to be cut. He sighs, sternly telling himself that this is  _ not  _ something to cry over, and decides he will ask if it can be cut. His captors all seem exceedingly kind, if misguided, and he thinks Maria would allow him that. 

 

By the time he is done attending himself in the mirror, the bath is full and steaming, the scent of lavender filling his nose and making him relax. The edge of the tub is wide and easy for him to sit on and strip before slowly lowering himself in. A long sigh escapes Hanzo's mouth as the water slips over his skin, warm almost to the point of pain, just as he likes it. He settles himself on the seat firmly, gasping when it lowers itself until he is up to his shoulders. 

 

Soap and a washcloth appear to his right, and he finds himself grinning as he recognizes his favorite brand of shampoo and body wash; he murmurs a quiet thank you even though it makes him feel foolish to do so, squirting a generous dollop of body wash onto the cloth before soaping himself liberally.

 

Hanzo finds that the water does not become dirty as he washes, all the suds vanishing as they hit the surface of the water, and the water doesn't lose its scalding temperature even though he's quite sure he's been in there longer than an hour. The water is soothing, comforting, and remaining in the bath means he doesn't have to face the pain he is sure is coming for him. 

 

He isn't fooled by his captors; they may  _ mean  _ well, they may not be bad people, they may have never harmed another person in their lives before, but Hanzo is an exception. He is reviled by all, hated by everyone who happens to gaze upon him, abandoned by the spirits meant to watch over him. His own  _ brother  _ couldn't look upon him with anything but hatred, so it was only a matter of time before these wonderful people came to their senses. Hopefully they would grant his request for a quick death. He was tired, so tired, of being in pain and fear. They seemed so kind and gentle, he couldn't imagine them not granting his request. He only hoped they felt no guilt after they'd killed him; as terrible as it was to be hated, he hoped their hatred saw through to the end and granted them a righteous feeling when they killed him. They would be doing a service to the world, after all, in ridding it of him.

 

As wonderful as the water felt, he knew he couldn't linger as long as he might want to. His stomach, already spoiled on the meal he had had the previous night, was making noises about being fed  _ again, _ and Hanzo was hopeful enough to think he may get breakfast. 

 

Freshly bathed and dressed in clean clothes (and still wondering where his dirty clothes and towel had vanished to) he exited the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen. Maria is there, nursing a cup of coffee and gazing at a holofeed, but she looks up and smiles when she sees him.

 

“Good morning,  _ mijo! _ An early riser, I like that. Would you like some coffee?” she asks, and her voice is so warm, her eyes open and kind, it makes Hanzo’s chest tight with emotion. He shakes his head slowly, and Maria’s smile widens slightly. 

 

“No matter, no matter. Jesse will be up soon, it is his turn to cook breakfast. I hope you like pancakes, because my Jessito makes the best, just like his abuelo,” she enthuses, and Hanzo finds himself smiling back. 

 

Sure enough, just a few moments later Jesse comes stumbling into the kitchen. This time he is shirtless, and Hanzo quickly averts his eyes, but even so he can still see the thickly muscled expanse of the other man’s back and abs, the thin layer of fat over his belly that's hiding enough muscle to withstand lifting Hanzo’s not-inconsiderable weight as though it’s nothing. He also catches sight of several different scars, silver against the brown of Jesse’s skin, some long, some deeper than others. He notices for the first time that Jesse’s left arm is a prosthetic, and focuses on that as the man shuffles around the kitchen, pulling ingredients from shelves with his eyes half lidded. His hair is mussed, a wild tangle on his head that he pays no heed to, and Hanzo finds himself grinning at the sight.

 

Julia wanders in at some point, scowling at everything until she has a cup of coffee placed in front of her by her smiling mother. She looks much like her son, sitting at the kitchen table slumped, her hair in a wild bun atop her head, her cheek still creased with pillow marks as she sips her coffee.

 

There is a sense of warmth and family so deep in the kitchen, it makes Hanzo’s chest clench painfully. He wonders if this is worth than the tortures he had endured; observing such a warm and obviously loving family as an outsider, remembering when his own family looked at him the same was Maria looks on at Julia.

 

Before he can get too melancholy, however, a glass is placed in front of him along with a stack of pancakes by a smiling Jesse. He lets out a quiet thank you, staring down at the three massive pancakes on his plate; there is hardly any plate at all, they’re so massive, and though his stomach rumbles, he doesn’t quite think it’s big enough to tackle such a large portion.

 

They all have equal stacks, however, and so he spreads syrup liberally over the golden brown disks and digs in. It’s quiet for a few moments around the breakfast table, just the sound of chewing and forks scraping to echo in the kitchen, before Julia speaks.

 

“Hanzo,  _ mijo, _ would you like to go to town to see George today? We can get your measurements for your prosthetics, and some fresh clothes,” she says, and her eyes are warm, her smile welcoming. Hanzo’s gut twists up, and he looks down at his plate, shame coloring his face.

 

“You have already done so much for me. I could not possibly impose any further,” he says quietly, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in his throat.

 

“Nonsense! Things are different here in La Mira, it is not like the rest of the world. We help each other here, and work together to ensure everyone is happy, and safe,” Julia says gently.

 

A warm, heavy hand touches his shoulders, and Hanzo looks up into Jesse’s gentle face. His breath is gone, for a moment, as if he had looked directly into the sun. “If’n you’re more comfortable without prosthetics, that’s just fine. It was a while afore I came around to getting one, and if you don’t want any that’s okay. But it ain’t no imposition on any of us; we got time and resources most don’t, and George likes any excuse to work on a pair o’ limbs, seeing as so few of us actually  _ need  _ prosthetics.”

 

Hanzo blinks, looks away from Jesse’s kindness, feeling as though he’s been blinded. Even before, he had never met someone so kind-hearted, so willing to help a complete stranger. He had not known this kind of inherent goodness  _ existed,  _ let alone expected so much of it to be directed at him.

 

“I…” he murmured slowly, finding the words hard to remember in English; it had been so long since he’d even spoken at all. “I would like to...walk, again.”

 

“Great!” Jesse said, and when Hanzo chanced a look, his whole face was alight with his delight. “You wanting to tag along today, or would you like more time to acclimate yourself?”

 

“Today is fine,” Hanzo says, returning Jesse’s wide grin with a shy smile of his own. Warmth was spreading through his chest, and he returned to his breakfast, the smiling sliding off as he saw how much food was still in front of him. Finishing the soup last night had been easy, as it was light enough not to press to harshly on his stomach. The pancakes, despite their deliciousness, were thick and rich, and his stomach was protesting before he’d even finished a third of the stacks.

 

He kept eating, however, not wanting to waste the food, or inspire violence in his hosts. Wasting it would be an insult, and worse, could turn their kind smiles cruel. He took smaller and smaller bites, chewing slowly as the food turned to ash in his mouth, swallowing becoming increasingly difficult. His eyes watered and each bite began to feel as though he would vomit, and he was only halfway done.

 

“ _ Mijo, _ ” Maria says gently, and Hanzo’s eyes snap from his plate to her, vision blurring as tears brim, threatening to spill over. “Are you full?”

 

Faced with three sets of kind, concerned eyes on him, he lets out a choked sob, fork trembling in his hand. “I’m s-s-sorry,” he gasps, trying desperately to reign in his cries. They don’t like it when he cries. “S-s-sorry, I’ll finish, I’ll finish, I promise,” he gasps, forcing himself to take another bite even as his stomach threatens to rebel.

 

A large, warm hand gently grasps his wrist, and despite knowing the punishment for it, he flinches away violently, trembling with fear. He silently curses himself as his fork is taken from him, closing his eyes as he waits for the bite of the whip on his skin; he flinched away before, but he knows what’s coming now. It’s not bad, when he knows what’s coming.

 

“Shh, darlin’, you’re okay,” Jesse murmurs in his ear, and he is enveloped in those strong arms, the view of Jesse’s shoulders blocking out his half-finished plate. Hanzo finds himself sinking into the embrace, shuddering as he tightly reigns in his sobs. He will not incur further wrath by sobbing like a child. 

 

Slowly, slowly, he sinks down from the high of panic. Jesse and Maria and Julia are not like his last captors; they are kind, and they don’t seem to look at him with the same disgust everyone else has. Jesse’s arms are warm and solid around him, grounding, and Hanzo mourns their loss when Jesse pulls away.

 

“You ain’t gotta finish anything if you’re full, darlin’,” Jesse says gently, looking at Hanzo earnestly. “You ain’t used to eating much, are you?” he asks softly, and frowns a bit when Hanzo nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll remember that, alright? I won’t give you so much, would that be better?” Another nod, and Jesse smiled widely at him; it was near blinding in its sincerity and Hanzo found himself looking down.

 

“Let’s get this show on the road, then,” Jesse said, clapping as he moved away from Hanzo. Breakfast is cleared from the table, the plates simply vanishing, and Hanzo marvels at that, eyes flicking to the sink where the plates and pans are now, washing themselves with vigor. He wonders, again, how it works, what sort of magic it takes to do all these little things that seem like miracles to him.

 

Jesse and Julia both disappear to dress themselves, while Hanzo follows Maria outside at her beckoning. She is quiet, but it isn’t uncomfortable. The silence around her is a gentle warmth, a companionship he had not felt in quite some time, and he feels more at ease with her after his panic.

 

She leads him to the back garden, just past a beautiful arrangement of herbs and flowers, to a stone patio. There are chairs, a grill and firepit, and off to the side, etched into the concrete, is a huge, intricate circle full of swirling patterns and letters of an alphabet he has never seen before. Maria leads him to the circle, stepping into it without fear, while Hanzo hesitates outside its edge.

 

“This is a transport circle,” Maria explains at his hesitance. “It goes only one place; the town square. These runes here” -she points to the ones that look vaguely like numbers-”are coordinates; you don’t have to use those, of course, but they’re accurate and more precise than just a name or place.”

 

“I see,” Hanzo says slowly, processing the information given to him. He studied the circle with greater interest, wondering if he could learn something like this. If it were possible, for someone as broken as he was to wield such power.

 

Jesse and Julia finally arrived, Jesse dressed in a casual plaid shirt and jeans, Julia in white floral summer dress. Hanzo vaguely remembered a red blanket Jesse had worn over his shoulders, but the day was warm enough for him not to question its absence. 

 

“Ready?” Jesse asked, rubbing his hands together and looking eager. Hanzo nodded, once, and Jesse grinned. “Take a deep breath.”

 

Hanzo barely had time to comply before Jesse clapped, and a sensation not unlike falling from a great heat swooped up his stomach. The world was a blur of motion and color for a second, before settling into solid shapes.

 

They were in another circle, similar to the one they had left, but this one was set in marble and much, much bigger. They appeared to be in an open town square; the space in the circle was clear but there were several fountains and trees and blooming flowers around, brick pathways leading to and from the circle. The gentle babble of people met his ears, and instead of spiking his anxiety, he only felt...calm.

 

“Nice, ain't it? It’s the Jubalie birds. Their song inspires peace,” Jesse said when he noticed Hanzo's look of astonishment. “C’mon now, I'll be taking you to George. Mama and Abuela have errands to run.”

 

Hanzo nodded easily, following Jesse along one of the brick paths closely. His eyes swept from side to side furtively, taking in the shop fronts and people walking about. Some of them, like Jesse and his family, appeared wholly normal and unassuming. Others, however, were very obviously not human. On the opposite side of the street, two humanoid wolf creatures enjoyed a treat outside an ice cream shop. Down the way, a centaur strolled along with a small child on its back.

 

Jesse led him along the path, a cream colored one that wound from the circle along the shopfronts. The bricks were bright, clean, as if they had just been lain, but also cracked with years of wear. It was a strange dichotomy that made Hanzo’s head throb just behind his eyes when he thought about it too hard, but he put it to the back of his mind.

 

They arrived at a small shop labeled with an anvil; it’s windows were blacked out, not allowing anyone to see inside, and when Hanzo followed Jesse in, he was immediately hit by a wave of  _ heat, _ thick and heavy on his skin, almost as if he’d stepped from an airconditioned room into a hot summer's day. The sound of banging met his ears and the smell of metal was in the air. Looking around, the space occupied by a huge, old fashioned smithy looked far too large for the small shopfront he had seen on the outside, but, like so many things today, he shoved it to the back of his mind.

  
There were several people milling about, working on various projects, a pair of what appeared to be twins hammering a long piece of metal over an anvil in such strict synchronicity they almost appeared to have one mind, missing hitting each other’s hammers by millimeters. So entranced by their movement was he that he didn’t notice the man they’d come to see appear until Jesse touched his shoulder gently.

 

Hanzo jumped, turning his attention to the older man that had appeared. He had laugh lines around his cheeks, and maintained a thick, well-trimmed beard that was braided neatly and intricately in three parts. His eyes were bright blue, hair blond, and he looked somewhat like the depictions of ancient Nordic gods Hanzo had seen.

 

“Hello there,” he said, voice booming but kind. “Why don’t we go in the back and get you measured out, alright?”

 

Voice stolen away by the sheer  _ presence  _ the man carried, Hanzo nods, and Jesse squeezes his shoulder gently as they walk around the forges through a back door. Here, the hallways are bright and covered in linoleum, and the room he is led to looks like a modern day doctor’s office. The bed is low enough for him to heave himself on without help, something he’s grateful for, and then he’s staring George in the face. 

 

The man is shorter than Jesse by a head, but he takes up so much  _ space,  _ broader in shoulder and arm. He is gentle when taking Hanzo’s measurements, moving slowly and explaining what he’s doing before each motion is completed, handling his limbs like they’re fragile, breakable things.

 

Hanzo both hates the treatment, and is grateful for it. His pride has long since been ground into the dirt, but it still stings to have to be treated like a small child just to make it through something so simple. Luckily, just as the tight knot of anxiety is growing to large in his chest, George moves away with a grin.

 

“Right. I should have something for you in a week! You’ll be climbing cliffs again in no time!” he said with a jovial wink, as if he and Hanzo just shared a fun secret. Hanzo returns a somewhat baffled smile, and eagerly follows Jesse out of the smithy. Outside, where he is less confined, he breathes a sigh of relief. His stubs throb where George had to touch him, and he kind of feels like he needs a shower.

 

_ Ridiculous. The touch was not remotely sexual,  _ he thinks meanly to himself, shaking his head to clear it.  _ Besides,  _ his inner monologue continues,  _ it does not matter if it was. They own me. _

“How’d’you feel about going to the petshop with me?” Jesse asks as they continue on down the path. 

 

“That is acceptable,” Hanzo replies softly, chewing on the inside of his lip. He likes animals. Perhaps seeing some will calm his tattered nerves.

 

The walk to the pet shop is quick, and when they enter, Hanzo is struck by the noise. There are chitter, chirps, growls, and hisses. There are animals lounging on various shelves above, and few seem to be caged. Cats, dogs, lizards and various odd animals he cannot name run, jump, and crawl about. There seems to be an invisible barrier separating them from the animals, however, creating a clear pathway for them to follow. 

 

Jesse walks straight down the path, towards the back of the store where there appears to be various toys, feed and other such materials for the care of pets. Hanzo follows, but is quickly distracted by the glittering of bright scales, blue in color. He feels his jaw go slack as he looks on at the small creatures, bundled in a large ball and sleeping on top of one another. They are blue, green, purple and red, and each of them is a small version of the spirit dragons he has known all his life. 

 

Their scales are  _ vibrant, _ glowing, almost and he is entranced. He had always known that the dragons had to have existed at one point, to have become spirits in the first place, but presented by the evidence of them before his own eyes he is dumbstruck.

 

As he watches, one of the dragons opens a yellow eye, lifting its head and yawning widely. It’s mouth is filled with rows of small, sharp teeth, it’s mane a golden yellow that gleams with a light all it’s own. It wiggles free of its siblings, and on closer inspection, seems to be half the size of the rest, who are about the size of chihuahuas. It fixes its yellow eyes on Hanzo, slinking along the ground towards him before stopping just at the invisible barrier.

 

“Hello,” he murmurs quietly, and it cocks its head as it considers him. It scrunches up slightly, wiggling, before leaping up and over the barrier. Hanzo yelps as it lands in his lap, expecting pain from those sharp claws he’d seen, but it doesn’t come. In his lap, the dragon looks up at him, opens his mouth, and lets out a demanding chirrup.

 

Slowly, Hanzo holds out his hand, giggling when the dragon pushes its head into his palms much like a cat would. It’s horns don’t even scrape his palm, and it’s scales feel like silk under his fingers, its mane the softest velvet he’s ever touched. 

 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and the dragon chirrups imperiously, preening under the attention. He finds the spot under its chin that makes it  _ purr, _ deeper than a cat’s but just as soothing. It nibbles his fingers when it decides its had enough petting, and circles his lap once before curling in a tight ball and promptly falling asleep.

 

“Well, I never,” someone huffs, and Hanzo jumps slightly. Jesse and a redheaded woman are standing behind him, Jesse watching with a fond smile and the woman with exasperation. “I thought that little gremlin was going to be here forever. Good to see he’s chosen someone.”

 

Hanzo blinks, confused, before his mind catches up with her words. When it does, his heart twists as he looks down at the dragon in his lap.

 

“But...I can’t pay for him,” he says softly, swallowing. 

 

The woman scoffs. “What kinda operation you think I’m running, kid? I ain’t looking for payment, other than you taking care of your familiar now that it’s chosen you.”

 

Hanzo frowns, the confusion returning. “Familiar..?”

 

“You’ll have t’parden my friend,” Jesse interrupts the woman before she can open her mouth again. “He’s pretty new to the craft.”

 

That seems to properly derail the tirade the woman had been about to go off on, and she nods before turning back to Hanzo. “I raise and breed familiars for new witches, wizards, warlocks, necromancers and mages. I don’t charge, because buying a familiar goes against the grain of having one. It’s gotta choose you. And that ornery little jerk chose you; that’s not his original clutch. He was the runt of the litter two years ago, and he’s barely gotten big enough for me to put him out with the others. He’s more likely to bite than to demand pets, though, so he’s obviously settled on you.”

 

Hanzo blinks, staring down at the dragon in his lap with wide eyes. He feels humbled, the same way he felt humbled when the Twins chose him, and he swallows the knot in his throat. “I’m honored,” he murmurs, looking up at the woman with tears in his eyes. 

 

She smiles, and it transforms her pinched face into something much kinder. “Good. He’s a Great Dragon; one day he’ll be bigger than a house and three times as mean, but I’m sure you know something about Great Dragons already, dontcha?”

 

Hanzo’s eyes flick to his left arm, where his tattoo is clearly visible, and he nods slowly. The woman nods in satisfaction, and Jesse’s smile is wide.

 

“I expect you to bring him by at least once a year, for a proper check up,” she says sternly, and Hanzo nods vigorously. Jesse finishes his purchases, and they leave the shop, giving the shopkeeper a wave as they do so.

 

The dragon sleeps soundly for the rest of the trip; they have lunch in an outdoor cafe where their food appears on tables without them having to order. Hanzo doesn’t see anyone inside the cafe behind the counter, but the scone he eats is delicious, so he doesn’t question it. 

When the dragon finally wakes, when they are back at the house, he feeds it bits of raw beef from his fingers, and asks what it would like to be named. The dragon only blinks at him as it nibbles its beef, and Hanzo thinks.

 

“What about….Kichiro?” he asks. The dragon lets out a chirrup, and he takes it as a yes. 


End file.
